


Heart to Heart

by tiger_moran



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Aromantic Character, Aromanticism, Asexual Character, Asexuality, Conversations, F/M, Kissing, Love, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mentions of Sex, Multi, No Sex, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:12:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3494729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiger_moran/pseuds/tiger_moran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While spending some time out in the country with both Moran and Kitty, Moriarty seeks some guidance from Kitty and learns that he has something else in common with her besides their affection for Moran, but that in other regards they are still two very different people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart to Heart

**Author's Note:**

> Because I realised not only is aromantic!Moriarty really important to me, but also so is aromantic!Kitty Winter.  
> Also because the idea of Moriarty and Kitty developing a close friendship is the best thing.

    “Moran, it is a beautiful summer’s morning,” Moriarty announces to the stark naked and seemingly comatose form on the bed, “and yet you are wasting it here lying in bed.”

    “Don’t care,” Moran mumbles into the pillow, not even troubling to lift his head up. While the sheets are crumpled and rather sweat-soaked and not terribly comfortable, staying lying on the bed seems preferable to having to move when there is really nothing of any importance to do.

    Moriarty, looking perfectly cool and composed in his pale linen suit and straw hat, wonders if poking the colonel with his cane would achieve a more desirable result. “I thought I might take a walk before breakfast,” he informs the still face-down Moran.

    “Good for you. Have a nice time.”

    “I thought you might like to join me?”

    Finally Moran half turns over and cracks open one eye. “In this heat?” he exclaims.

     “You served in India,” Moriarty points out. “I would have thought you would be used to the heat.”

     “One, India wasn’t usually this humid,” Moran says, sitting up at last, making no effort at all to preserve his modesty, although doubtless they are far past the stage where such things are necessary. “And two, just because I served in India doesn’t mean I liked the heat any better there either.”

    Moriarty sniffs disdainfully. “Perhaps you are merely becoming lazy in your old age,” he says, trying to provoke Moran into action. He is himself no great fan of the heat and humidity either but he had thought taking a short stroll with his companion before breakfast would be pleasant. The idea of walking alone is not intolerable to a man such as him, one who still values his periods of solitude, but still, it is less appealing when he had intended to walk with a companion.

    “Aye, perhaps that’s it,” Moran says before flopping face down onto the bed again.

    Moriarty sighs. He could _order_ Moran to get up and accompany him but if he does so the colonel will only sulk and grumble constantly, berating the birds for their incessant tweeting and complaining that the sky is too vivid a shade of blue or some such nonsense. “Well then, if you cannot be bothered perhaps I shall have to ask Miss Winter to accompany me instead.”

    “You do that,” Moran says, his voice muffled by the pillow again. After a moment’s thought though he does lift his head up to call out, “Professor?”

    Moriarty pauses as he is about to exit the bedroom. “Yes?” He has no expectation that Moran has changed his mind, but he is curious to hear him out at least.

    “Have a nice walk,” Moran says, his tone far softer now. The heat may make him irritable but he realises he would not want the professor to go out feeling that there was some kind of bad atmosphere between them. The intolerable heat is hardly Moriarty’s fault, after all, and perhaps it is a degree more bearable here out in the country than in the oven that is London so this trip away was a most excellent idea of the professor’s.

    A smile flickers across the professor’s features, so brief that it is nearly invisible. “I will see you later, Sebastian,” he says before leaving and closing the door gently behind him.

  

    He finds Kitty up and about, dressed in a floral-patterned dress and straw bonnet and looking as fresh and exuberant as ever. Despite her surname she seems to thrive in the summer’s heat, like a bright flower striving to reach the sun.

    “Ah, Kitty,” Moriarty says. “I was about to take a short stroll before breakfast; I wondered if you would care to accompany me?”

     Kitty regards him only for a second, considering this offer. Still she cannot entirely get the measure of Moriarty’s interest in her. However the professor has never been anything but a perfect gentleman towards her and she has no reason to suspect his intentions towards her now. “I’d like that, James,” she says, before adding with a laugh, “Seb in a mood, is he?”

     “I do not understand him at times,” Moriarty confesses, allowing her to slip her arm, her hand gloved in delicate lace, through his. “He despises the cold weather – snow and ice cause him to complain endlessly - yet summer arrives and he complains constantly about this also.”

     “That’s only ‘cos he’s comfortable around you,” Kitty tells him as they head outside into the more formal portion of the garden, with its neatly arranged flowerbeds and trimmed hedges.

    “Oh?” Moriarty looks puzzled.

    “D’ya think he complained so much when he was in the army? Or that he’d do so with someone else he didn’t care for? Course he wouldn’t; he does it with you ‘cos he feels he can, ‘cos you accept him even when he’s being…” Kitty pauses to think of the right word. “ _Difficult_ ,” she says finally, and giggles.

    “Hm,” Moriarty says, pondering this briefly as they stroll past the sundial. “You truly think so?”

    “I know so.” Kitty slips her free hand over and pats Moriarty’s hand reassuringly.

    “I do not think I entirely understand this whole _relationship_ business yet,” he admits, glancing sideways at her. “I still believe that… that Moran wants more than I can give to him.”

     “You give him your respect; your care and attention; your affection; you give him _yourself_ ; that is what he wants.”

    Moriarty pauses, obliging Kitty to come to a halt also. “But I feel that he desires greater…” He pulls a wry expression briefly as he contemplates the word. “ _Romance_.”

    “And you don’t?” She moves to face him directly, looking into his blue-grey eyes questioningly. “James?”

    “I enjoy the relationship I have with him.” Moriarty glances away sideways, unable to meet Kitty’s gaze for now. “I enjoy making him happy. It is not that I abhor romance – I have found that on the contrary, with Sebastian I enjoy many gestures and actions that are deemed by others to be _romantic_.”

    “But?”

    “But… it is not something I feel myself; romance does not come naturally to me, and so perhaps… Well, how does one even _have_ a romantic relationship?” Now he does look almost beseechingly into Kitty’s golden-brown eyes.

    She smiles and shrugs. “I’m damned if I know.”

    Puzzlement crosses Moriarty’s face once more. “You don’t know?”

    “No.”

     “You have never…?”

    “Never been in love, no. Oh I s’pose I’m still young yet, there’s still time for that, but I don’t know as I can still imagine myself ever feeling what other girls keep on tellin’ me they feel for their young men; what they keep on tellin’ me _I_ must be feelin’ for someone.” She smiles again, amused by his confusion. “What, did you think ‘cos I’m a girl I must be lovesick over someone? Want to wed ‘em and bear their children like some bloody brood mare?”

   “You do not desire marriage and children?”

   “No, James, I don’t. I like my independence too much. Oh don’t think me naïve, I know I’m _only_ a woman, that I am _inferior_.” She says this scathingly, wrinkling her freckled nose in distaste in a manner Moriarty cannot help but find rather endearing.

   “I cannot agree that there is anything inferior about you,” he informs her, his tone perfectly solemn and serious.

    She smiles as she takes his arm again and leads him on, into the less formal part of the grounds now. “You’re sweet, James, in your own odd sort of way.” With most other men she might suspect they were only speaking so to try to get into her drawers, but the professor is different somehow. She is not even sure it is because he seems to be more of a mandrake than a ladies man. Whatever it is though with him she gets the sense that though he is the sort who could potentially say almost anything to get what he wants, there are some areas where he is wholly incapable of lying. “But you know what I mean. Society thinks women secondary creatures to men; that we are all of us weak-willed and daft and prone to hysteria, fit only to lie on our backs and spread our legs and pop out babies for our ‘usbands, or _maybe_ do a bit of charity work or nursin’ so long as that don’t interfere with breedin’ heirs. Either that or we’re fallen creatures to be exploited or pitied. We ain’t s’posed to aspire to anything greater or think ourselves capable of living a life independent of one man or another, be it our papa or an ‘usband. Now don’t get me wrong, James: being a mother, it strikes me as a very grand thing, if that’s what a woman truly wants. Being a wife too, well I’m sure that’s fine for some women an’ all, but if those roles are just somethin’ she’s shoved into because she’s been told time and time again by _everyone_ all her life that that’s all she’s capable of and she can’t do nothin’ else, well then that’s a different matter. And it ain’t for me, havin’ babies, and I ain’t ever met a man I’d want to wed neither.”

   “Not even Sebastian?” Moriarty enquires, smiling slightly, not wholly serious in this questioning.

   “You know I don’t care for him like that,” she replies. “Seb’s sweet too, in his way. He may be a rough one but he’s always been kind to me – no, more than just kind; respectful too, and, well, if I may speak bluntly… he’s got a bloody nice prick and he knows how to put it to good use, and I do so like that in a man.” She giggles again, deeply amused by the flush that creeps into Moriarty’s cheeks. “Does my talk offend you?”

   “It does not offend me, no.”

   “Does it shock you then?” she asks coyly, still smiling. “A girl talking like this?”

   Moriarty smiles too. “No, I am not shocked, merely… unused to having such conversations, with anyone, female or male.”

   Kitty grins and pulls away from him, moving to stand in the shade of an oak tree. “I reckon you’ve led a sheltered life, James.” She tilts up her head, gazing up through the gaps in the leafy canopy at the sky where barely a wisp of cloud mars the brilliant blue. “I care for Sebastian, very much,” she says eventually, leaning her back against the tree trunk, still looking upwards. “But what I feel for him, it ain’t romantic passion, I’m sure of that.”

   “But what _I_ feel for him…” Moriarty hesitates, then clears his throat. “I do not believe that I feel ‘romantic passion’ either.”

   Kitty looks at him for a moment. “But you like having him as your permanent companion still?”

   “I do.” He moves to stand beside her, standing with his back against the tree too. He though looks down at the grass in front of him which, damp with beads of dew, glistens like jewels in the wavering sunlight filtering through the leaves above his head.

   “And you like the physical intimacy with him? I don’t mean just sex.”

   “Yes.”

   “Well then.”

   “Well then what?”

   “Well then, if you’re happy with that and he’s happy with that, what does it matter if you don’t feel no ‘romantic passion’?”

   Moriarty regards her face briefly, wondering what it is about this girl that makes her so easy to confide in about such matters he would never normally have dreamed of discussing with anyone. “But you do not think he desires more?” he asks.

   “More than what?” Kitty says with a shrug. “What I ‘ave with the two of you is a lot of fun; this arrangement suits me fine, but I wouldn’t want to be tied to one person forever. Seb though… he may act all tough and independent, and he is, in some ways, but I reckon he wants something I don’t; he’s long wanted to settle down, maybe not with a wife and children, but he wants stability, of a kind. You give him that.”

   Moriarty cannot entirely keep back a small sigh. “I simply fear that… he truly wishes for someone more like him in their desires, both of a romantic and, well, sexual nature.” He flushes slightly again, wishing that this were not the case; that he would not blush like some virginal schoolboy. However, he is no prude, despite his relative lack of sexual experience, but this remains a new thing for him, confiding such private matters in anyone but Moran, especially private matters that relate to Moran himself.

    Kitty regards his face again. “You don’t lust after ‘im?” she asks, although this is something she has suspected after observing the professor and the colonel together in private. Some of Moriarty’s behaviour does not imply that he is wilfully suppressing various feelings or desires but more that he simply does not feel them at all, not even for his own lover. Suddenly it makes a great deal more sense to her why the colonel often tends to verbally question Moriarty or rely upon more obvious, quite deliberate gestures rather than the subtle signs and signals that do perfectly well between her and Moran, or between her and most of her other past sexual partners. It becomes clear to her that Moran knows of Moriarty’s feelings, takes account of them and has adapted to the situation, and that his ability and willingness to do so does not indicate unhappiness with the situation.

   “I do not think I feel lust,” Moriarty says. “Not really.”

   “Not for anyone?”

   “No.”

    “Well, I can’t say as I relate to that,” Kitty says with a sly grin. “But if you say it’s true then I believe you.”

    Moriarty eyes her a second or two, trying to discern if there is any sarcasm or condescension in her voice, but he finds none. That being the case he ventures to speak further on the matter. “Once the mere idea of lying with anyone filled me with aversion. It seems my deep regard for Moran eclipsed any aversion I might feel for the sexual act with _him_ and so, consciously, I choose to lie with him, and I enjoy it very much, but then…” He pauses, gazing off into space briefly. “When I see the pair of you together I am reminded that, seemingly, sexual longing is something far more innate and far more unconscious for many people – that it comes naturally to them; to you, and to him. Sometimes…” He sighs a little. “I feel as if… as if Moran and I are speaking two entirely different languages.”

   “That don’t mean you can’t fit together,” Kitty points out. “Christ, James, I know dollymops who go with men who can’t speak a word of English.” She frowns upon realising that perhaps this is not the most appropriate example under the circumstances. “All right, no, forget I said that. I just meant… sometimes you don’t need to speak the language to rub along just fine together, and there’s more than one way to communicate things, and languages can be learnt even if they ain’t something you’re born with. I’ve seen the pair of you together; you understand each other better than many couples that have been wed for thirty, forty years, and you’re far kinder to each other than many of ‘em too. Like my parents, married twenty years but pa used to knock seven bells out of mama when he was in his cups and he weren’t much kinder to her when he was sober neither.”

    Moriarty cannot help but stare at her for a moment, wondering just what horrors this bright, effervescent girl has seen in her relatively short life, coming from a background of poverty and deprivation. Moriarty may not have come from some aristocratic family himself nor was he raised in an atmosphere filled with intense love but still, his background seems to have been vastly preferable to Kitty’s. Now she speaks so lightly of such serious matters yet surely they cannot have left her unaffected.

    “Yes,” he says at last, deciding it would be inappropriate to pry further into Kitty’s family history. She seems not to have noticed his scrutiny anyway. “But it seems also that Moran’s libido is unlike mine. At times his appears, well, rather insatiable.” He presses his lips into a thin, tight smile.

   Kitty laughs merrily at this, perhaps recollecting some of her own past encounters with the amorous colonel. “Sebastian’s an old goat, indeed,” she says. “But he’s happy with you. I reckon I’ll always care for Seb but I could never give 'im the kind of life he wants, but you can, and do. You don’t need to be writing him love poems and sending him flowers every day, that ain’t what he wants. You don’t even need to feel ‘romantic passion’, whatever that is. You are still a passionate man, James. I know it and Sebastian knows it too.”

   Moriarty chuckles. “Passionate about mathematics and astronomy, hardly things that interest Moran.”

   “And opera, and art, and those dratted birds.” Kitty laughs again and looks at him, the dappled sunlight filtering through the tree’s canopy glinting in her eyes, making them sparkle with gold. “And Sebastian,” she adds, suddenly seeming far more serious. “You’re passionate about 'im too, even if it ain’t precisely the same as his passion for you. He has a vital place in your world.”

   “And in yours?”

   “Yes, in mine too, but… not so close. His place in yours I think is right by your side; that is where you want him and where he wants to be. Personally-” She leaps forward and skips away a few paces across the grass. “I would find that arrangement stifling, but then I ain’t you or Sebastian.”

    “No,” Moriarty agrees softly, watching her dance away whilst contemplating her words. “I suppose not.”

   Kitty spins around, causing the strands of her hair that hang free of the restraining pins beneath her hat to fly about her face. “Don’t look so serious, James,” she says, bounding back to grasp him by the hands, leading him out of the shade of the tree and into the sun.

   “Perhaps I have cause to be serious,” he says, though he is smiling.

   “Oh?”

   “Perhaps I fear I am too old, too set in my ways to please him.”

   “Don’t be daft, James, you ain’t either of those things.” Kitty puts her small, lace-gloved hand to his face and then she stands up on tiptoe and kisses him gently upon the cheek. She notices that he closes his eyes as she does so. “Now, come on,” she says, grinning as she backs away from him. “Let’s walk on now, hmm?”

    “Very well.” He must be imagining it but he would swear he can still feel the lingering brush of her lips. He moves to follow her, though despite the fact that she is not so tall as he is and is shorter in the leg than him, she is already racing ahead of him. “I am afraid though, Kitty, you have the advantage of quite a few years over me.”

   After spending more time with Miss Winter, Moriarty is starting to suspect that as much as Moran may admire her, even the colonel might soon be exhausted by her were they to spend a greater amount of time in each other’s company. This thought proves strangely comforting, reassuring him that Moran would never throw him over for Kitty’s sake. This slim, pale, red-haired young lady too is full of fire and passion, even if none of her passions are truly romantic in nature. The professor though is becoming more adept at understanding that as much as Moran and Kitty may adore each other, they do not quite fit together in the way he and Moran fit together, and that apparently is all right with all three of them.

     “Really James, as if you are so ancient,” she scoffs, turning to face him but still moving backwards even now, seemingly unable to stand still for very long. As she moves into the longer meadow she holds up her skirts to avoid them trailing through the grass where it is still damp with the last of the morning’s dew.

    Gazing after her, the notion of throwing her down into the long grass, hoisting up her skirts and very thoroughly _rogering_ her does not occur per se to Moriarty, but he does still wonder if such a thought would cross Moran’s mind if the colonel were here in his place. Perhaps Moran has changed him more than he had previously thought.

     “Still, I am hardly as youthful as you.” He walks after her at a far more sedate pace, not bothering to try to conceal his amusement at her energy.

    “It’s a nice place you have out here,” she remarks, reaching the fence that surrounds the field where the horses are grazing. Heedless of whether or not this is quite the ladylike thing to do, she climbs up onto the bottom rail of the fence, resting both hands upon the top rail as she peers across the field towards the horses in the distance.

    “It is pleasant to come out here for a change of air and scenery,” Moriarty says, coming to a halt beside her. “I think too it is good for Moran to be able to ride a horse of his own in the country instead of doing tedious laps around a London park on some hired nag. I know how much he misses the horses he rode in India.”

      “See?” Kitty says triumphantly, turning to look down at him so swiftly that she nearly overbalances and falls off the fence. Moriarty is therefore obliged to steady her, putting his hands about her upper torso to help her down more safely. This does not seem to trouble her in the slightest however. “You’re always concerned for his happiness,” she says, looking up at him now, “and that’s the kind of thing that matters to 'im.”

     Moriarty narrows his eyes slightly, wondering at what point he became rather more selfless. He has always thought himself an inherently selfish person, capable only of doing kind things if there was some profit in it for him and never truly from some benevolent motive, and moreover he saw no fault with being so providing one was honest – at least with oneself – about it. Yet he has to admit that the more fond he has become of Moran, the more he has found himself considering Moran’s feelings rather than just his own. Once he might only have been kind to Moran because he found that his right hand man worked harder or more efficiently or was more reliable when praised and rewarded but over time things have altered. Now he likes making Moran happy and enjoys finding new ways to give his lover pleasure; to hear him laugh with genuine amusement or to coax a smile from him that is not cynical; one that touches his eyes and not only his mouth. In the early days of their association no doubt Moran would have been pleased to have been gifted a horse but his pleasure would have been tainted with deep suspicion as he wondered what the catch was and his face probably would not have lit up as it did when Moriarty recently gave him the mare which now grazes in the field before him. It had touched the professor deeply to see Moran look so thrilled.

     Perhaps even more strangely though, Moriarty has also found himself considering Kitty’s feelings too. This is certainly most unexpected.

     “You think my concerns are groundless then?” he dares to ask.

     “Yes,” Kitty answers swiftly, then laughs at her own bluntness. “That is, I reckon it’s good you _are_ concerned – that shows how much you care for ‘im and that you don’t take ‘im for granted – but you don’t need to be troublin’ yourself about it so much.”

     “Perhaps not.” From having his hands about her body, he has somehow inadvertently ended up clasping her hand in his now. He holds it lightly, noticing truly how small her hands are compared to Moran’s; how slender her fingers are. He also notices how she has dirtied her gloves with some form of grime or mould when climbing on the fence. “You have spoilt your nice gloves,” he tells her.

    “Have I?” She regards the palms of her gloves before shrugging again. “Well, it couldn’t be helped.”

    “If you had refrained from climbing upon fences like some schoolboy-” he begins with mock sternness.

    “Are you judging me, James Moriarty?” Kitty tosses back her head, giggling again, delighted by the fact he feels comfortable enough with her now to tease her.

    “Merely stating a fact.”

    “If you’re so concerned about the state of my gloves you can buy me a new pair.”

    “Oh can I?”

    “Yes.” She grins at him again. “You can.”

    Moriarty laughs and not for the first time Kitty thinks how much younger he seems when he is genuinely amused.

    “All right, I will, if you promise not to ruin those also by climbing up on fences.”

    “I’m afraid I can’t promise that; you never know when I might simply _have_ to climb on a fence.”

    “Hmm, well, I suppose you have a valid point. I will therefore have to buy you a new pair of gloves without extracting such a promise from you.” He offers her his arm again and becomes solemn once more. “Kitty, you are… you do not feel somehow excluded, do you? My intention in inviting you to join us was never to make you feel left out.”

    “I don’t, James. You and Seb, you like all that, the other physical stuff, all that touching and sharing a bed and that, and I think that’s grand for the pair of you but it ain’t for me. I’ve told you, what we do have together suits me down to the ground.”

    “Honestly?” he questions.

    “Honestly?” She smiles at him warmly. “Yes. I’ve had other men in the past I lusted after and we had a lot of fun together and maybe I was sweet on them in a way, and it’s always nice to get presents and that from ‘em too, but then they ‘ad to go and spoil it by declaring their undying love for me and wanting me to commit to them, whether it be as wife or kept mistress. I tell you, James, nothing’s guaranteed to put me off a fella swifter than ‘im trying to put a claim on me like that.”

    “I see,” Moriarty says. “You truly do value your independence.”

    “Indeed I do.”

    “And your sexual freedom?” he remarks with a slightly raised eyebrow.

    “That too.” Kitty grins wickedly. “Do I still not scandalise you, James?”

    “I consider myself too open-minded for your sexual peccadilloes to vex me.”

    “ _Peccadilloes_ ,” Kitty says, giggling. “You come across as a right toff sometimes, you do, being all proper and strait-laced, but then you really ain’t like any other man I’ve ever met.”

    Moriarty considers this momentarily. “I shall choose to take that as a compliment.”

    “You do that; that’s how it were meant.”

    “Very good. Shall we return to the house now and see if Moran has finally deigned to awaken properly?”

    “Chuck a bucket of cold water on ‘im if not, that’ll get ‘im up quick sharp.” Kitty smirks, the mental image of a naked and soaking wet Moran being rather appealing.

    “Perhaps I may take you up on that suggestion,” Moriarty says, laughing as they stroll arm in arm back through the meadow. As they are nearing the house though he pauses and glances at Kitty’s face again. “Kitty, what we spoke of, of my concerns regarding Moran…”

    “You want me to keep your fears to myself,” she says at once.

    “If you wouldn’t mind.”

    “So long as you ain’t keepin’ secrets from him generally. If you have doubts, James, then talk to ‘im and put your fears to rest that way. Seb cares for you, and he understands you better than anyone.”

    “I know that he does.”

    “So, he’d never think badly of you for being unsure, especially when what you’re frettin’ about is how best to make him happy.”

    “I know that too. He has always tried to be understanding and supportive. I simply do not…” Moriarty glances sideways, looking away from her.

    “What?” Kitty laughs. “Don’t want Seb to know you care for him so much?”

    Moriarty drags his gaze back to meet hers.

    “He already knows that, James,” she says, and she might swear that Moriarty blushes slightly again.

    He shifts awkwardly on the spot. “Kitty, you are… a rare treasure.”

    “I know,” she says, and bursts into giggles again. Her laughter proves to be infectious and Moriarty is soon laughing again also.

    “But you are,” he says. “I do appreciate your counsel, truly.” He takes her right hand in his and, holding it gently, kisses its back, his lips brushing over the lace glove. “Thank you.”

    Now Kitty’s cheeks seem to flush a little. “You’re very welcome, James,” she says, being serious for a moment, though this doesn’t last long. “Just so long as you ain’t gonna propose to me now anyway.”

    Wondering if he has overstepped some boundary here, Moriarty releases her hand and takes a step back.

    “It’s all right, come on, I was teasing you.” She holds out her arm to him once again. “Let’s go and wake sleeping beauty.”

 

    In the event, such drastic measures as throwing cold water over the colonel prove to be unnecessary, perhaps to Kitty’s great disappointment. Moran is not only up out of bed but washed and dressed. Whilst Kitty goes to freshen up and remove her soiled gloves, Moriarty finds Moran in their bedroom, sitting in the chair opposite the bed to lace up his boots. The professor cannot help but wonder though if Moran has not perhaps been near the window; whether he may have been unable to resist looking out across the grounds to observe Moriarty and Kitty together, perhaps not out of concern or suspicion but merely out of curiosity.

    “Had a nice walk?” the colonel asks, looking up from his perfectly polished boots.

    “Very pleasant.” Moriarty sets his straw hat down on the bed before moving over to stand before Moran. “You really should join us another time though.”

     “You seemed happy enough with Kitty,” Moran says, which proves that he _has_ been watching them. There is no accusation in his tone however; it is merely a statement.

    Moriarty therefore feels no need to address the matter further. “I would still enjoy your company also.”

    “Maybe I’ll consider it next time then.” Moran grins crookedly as he stands up. Taller than Kitty but not quite so tall as the professor, still it takes almost no effort for him to lean forward and kiss Moriarty softly on the lips. He had intended it to be no more than a brief, chaste, affectionate kiss, but Moriarty quickly slips his hand behind Moran’s head and draws him back, pulling him into a deeper, more passionate open-mouthed kiss. Moran quickly melts into it, closing his eyes for a time before finally opening them again, his blue eyes meeting Moriarty’s blue-grey ones, and Moriarty sees once again that there is such love in how Moran regards him – not mere lust (though doubtless there is a hint of that) but romantic love, surely; something that Moriarty still does not feel or truly understand.

     Even so, he thinks, Kitty is right. Moran is happy with this; he is happy with _him_ , even knowing that his affection cannot be returned precisely in kind, that it _is_ still returned is enough for the colonel.

    By the time they pull apart Moran is breathing heavily and beginning to perspire again.

    “You should not get yourself all hot and bothered like that in this weather,” Moriarty chides with a smile.

    “I can’t help it; you have that affect on me.” Moran grins again. He moves closer to Moriarty again, cupping the professor’s face in his palm. “What were the two of you talking about?”

    “This and that.” Moriarty gives him an enigmatic smile. “In part I was concerned whether Kitty ever feels excluded by our closeness.”

    “And does she?”

    “She assures me that she does not and that our arrangement suits her admirably.”

    “Well…” Moran leans forward for another kiss. “Good.” He presses his lips to the professor’s again, smiling through the kiss. “And what about you? Does our arrangement still suit _you_ admirably?”

    “It does.” Moriarty smiles reassuringly at him briefly before his expression clouds slightly. “What about you, Sebastian; does it still suit you?”

    “God yes!” Moran blurts out, then laughs. “I mean, yes sir, it suits me very well.”

    “Good.” Moriarty gives him another swift peck on the lips before withdrawing from him. “Come along then, time for breakfast; we should not keep Kitty waiting.” He holds out his hand, allowing Moran this time to link arms with him, which the colonel does while still smiling to himself.

     Moran, the professor cannot help but notice, feels more solid somehow than Kitty. Kitty feels so much lighter, no doubt because she does indeed weigh rather less than the colonel, but also perhaps because it is as Kitty says: she does not wish to feel tethered to them. She enjoys her relationship with them but still values a greater degree of independence. Moran though… his place, it seems, is – and perhaps will always be – right by Moriarty’s side.


End file.
